He's Like Tabasco Sauce
by Unbeautifully-Broken
Summary: Hermione pretends to join Voldemort so that she can provide Harry with the secrets of the other side. But when Malfoy forces her to feed him information on Harry, she ends up playing on both teams. HGDM.
1. Room 303

_Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. Yes, I like Tabasco sauce, but I didn't come up with that, either._

**Au/N: Appreciate flames, but please don't trash this like it's Britney Spears. Told from Hermione's point of view.**

**_One. Room 303_**.

I should never have agreed to such insanity. I told Harry from the moment he suggested such a foul, loathsome idea that it was absolutely out of the question. I would never participate in such an outlandish act and that was the end of it.

But somehow, I found myself agreeing to meet Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, in a certain place, at a certain time, while acting as though I wanted to join the "Dark Side." Harry told me to walk in to the Leaky Cauldron, ask for room key 303, and wait there until Malfoy arrived. I was supposed to act hateful and vengeful toward Harry and offer Malfoy information that would prove vital in Harry's defeat. In turn, I would gain Malfoy's trust and learn more about Voldemort's plans. All I'd had to do to arrange the meeting was send a letter to Malfoy, telling him that I would _give_ him Harry Potter, if he met me in room 303 of the Leaky Cauldron; it was an offer he couldn't refuse. It all started only a week ago today…

-:-

"I…I'd like the key for room 303, please," I asked quietly. My hands were shaking furiously. Harry had given me a nerve tonic; he told me the plan would never work if I didn't seem one hundred-percent calm and ready to devote myself to Voldemort. However, the tonic seemed to be having the opposite effect on me. I took a deep breath as the innkeeper reached beneath his old desk and extracted a small, metal key. He must have noticed how nervous I was, because he looked at me like my eyeball had popped out.

"Pray tell, miss, what you're doing in this place? It's not for the likes of a woman like you…" he whispered. I thought I saw him glance down at my chest, so I wrapped my robes tighter around me.

"I'm staying the night because my husband died, and I can't bear to live in the house where I shared so many fond memories with him," I responded automatically. Harry and Ron and I had gone over this conversation many times.

"Oh…well…wouldn't you like a room better than 303? No one stays there anymore…they think it's linked to the murders." His finger tapped a newspaper on the corner of his desk. It was a few years old, but the headline stood out like an omen: "Voldemort Strikes Again, 303 Killed". "Happened just across the street from here…" the man muttered.

"I…doubt that it's related."

"Tell that to everyone who would rather die than sleep in that room."

Not wanting to hear anymore of his crazy theories, I nodded and left the room. I ascended the creaky steps of the inn, pausing to glance at the number nailed to each door as I went down the hall. Finally, I found my room. I noticed the number 303 was nailed to the door, but the door was yellowed and peeling, while the numbers were hanging like broken shingles, ready to fall. The doorknob wouldn't work the first time I tried it. I tried jiggling it and twisting it all kinds of ways, but the door wouldn't budge.

Suddenly, the door opened inward and I fell through the opening. I collided hard with the floor, my elbows skinned on the damp carpet. I moaned as I turned to see a pair of black, shiny shoes standing near my head. I looked up and saw Draco Malfoy standing above me, his hand on the doorknob. He looked down at me, amused.

"Hello again, Mudblood," he said in his version of a 'friendly greeting.' He offered me his hand, which I thought was strange in itself, but I stood up on my own. He awkwardly shoved it into his pocket and closed the door. As soon as it was closed, he was all confidence, cold and unyielding. The change was anything but subtle.

"Hello to you, too," I said coldly. I attempted a smile, but my face muscles were out to lunch and would not be back to work for an hour.

"So, Mudblood--"

"Hermione." Harry had told me to be bold and stick up for myself; Death Eaters, Malfoy in particular, admired valor. Malfoy paused a moment, but then he began talking again as though he hadn't heard me.

"Tell me why you want to join us…you have five minutes before I get bored and kill you." He actually looked at his shiny, silver, way-too-expensive-for-me-to-look-at watch. He marked the time and then crossed his arms, satisfied. He grinned coldly at me and said, "Go."

I locked my jaw and tried to refrain from smacking the shit out of his curious, ghostly pale, inhumanly attractive face. I took another deep breath and prepared myself for the audition that I would never have another chance to attempt again. It was lie (and lie well) or die. No pressure.

"I'm sick of them. I'm sick of their views on everything. The only reason they've made it this far is because of me. I'm the brains of the entire operation, and they know it. It would be devastating for them to lose me at such a critical time…"

He was not convinced yet. I tried something else.

"I've often asked them to include me…give me some credit…something. Not a scrap of gratitude or a hint of appreciation. They take and take, but never give me any thanks. I'm tired of being used. And, let's be frank…we both know who's going to win this war. It's been obvious since the beginning. Harry's hardly hit puberty and Voldemort was—is—the greatest wizard ever known. And I don't want to be on the wrong side when this ends."

"And you think that if you help us, you'll be immune to death?" he asked, amused but curious. I could see his suspicion beginning to ebb.

"Well, let's face it…right now, this whole thing is at a stand-still because you can't find Harry. I know exactly where he is, what he's doing, and where he'll be tomorrow. He trusts me and invests secrets and valuable information in me; he talks to me like no other. And, since I've been such a great help to him…why not be a great help to Voldemort? At least then I have a chance of coming out of this alive."

I'll admit it; I was getting cocky. I could see Malfoy's stone wall of certainty crumbling down. He was starting to believe me. I'd planted the seed; now it was time to help it grow.

"I just want to play my cards right and come out on top for once; is that so wrong? I'm the brightest witch of my age, Malfoy. Do you really wanna pass up the opportunity to steal away little Potter's best friend and cut him so deeply that he'll still be reeling from the shock when you find him…and end it all?" My question obviously struck him as something to definitely think about. His eyebrows rose high, his eyes widened, and his mouth curled in a little smile. Needless to say, the bastard was impressed. I knew I'd have to hide my pride at convincing him until we were far, far apart. But I couldn't help but smile back at him, just a little evilly.

"You…have a point, I must say," he said after a few moments of deep thought. I grinned wider and nodded.

"I'm glad you can see it my way." The fish smelled the worm. His mouth was around the hook. Time to jerk the line and reel him in. "So, you grant me immunity from Voldemort, and I give you Harry Potter, the boy who lived. Do we have a deal?"

I could see the wheels turning in his head. I began to tap my foot impatiently. I inspected my fingernails and twisted a strand of hair around my finger, trying to look nonchalant about the whole ordeal. The less nervous I seemed, the better…but inside, every fiber of my being was screaming at me to get the hell out of there.

"If you don't give me an answer soon, I'll walk right out that door, and with me goes any chance you have of finding Potter. Make up your mind," I demanded. I sighed, sounding bored. Malfoy's eyes stared into me, burning holes through mine. When I was younger, I'd read a muggle book about how a damsel finds herself mesmerized by the eyes of her hero. I'd always thought it was stupid and something that would never happen in real life. But as I looked at Malfoy, I mean _really_ looked at him…I found myself feeling more and more like that lost damsel, in need of a dramatic rescue.

His eyes…I found myself lost in them; they were cold and black, but in the middle, in the very rim of his deep, dark brown iris, was warmth unlike any I'd ever seen. It was soft around the edges, but you had to look very closely to catch the twinge of sadness in it. I'd never seen eyes like his, never really looked for any. I was so amazed at what I found in the way his eyes roamed over me that I nearly forgot what I was there for…and that he could kill me at any given moment.

"I've made up my mind, Granger," he said. When he'd blinked, it had broken the invisible connection that had been gluing me to him. I'd forgotten what he'd said, and I felt horribly stupid.

"Huh?" I asked, shaking my head. He rolled his eyes.

"I've made a decision. You will be invaluable to our operation…like you said. But I don't want you here. You will return to Potter and the others; you will pretend this meeting never took place, and you will record information, everything they discuss, everything they plan, for us. Every Tuesday, you will tell Potter you are running an errand, fabricate anything you like, and you will be responsible for getting the information to me. You will not send it by owl, because it could be discovered; you will deliver it personally to this address." He snapped his fingers and a thin piece of white paper appeared in his hand. He held it out to me; I moved my palm beneath his hand, and he dropped the paper into it. My fist closed around it. I nodded curtly, shoved the paper into my pocket, and began to walk toward the door.

"Oh…Granger…one more thing, before you go…" Malfoy said quietly. I froze. He couldn't know…could he? My heart began to pound loudly in my chest. Had I given myself away? _Oh God. Please don't let me die. I've made it this far…please don't let it end now._

I turned to face him, trying to make my face appear as calm and serene as possible. I raised my eyebrows in response to what he'd said.

"If Potter discovers that you have betrayed him, he will kill you. And if he doesn't, I will. The dead don't speak, Granger…remember that." I swallowed just as he pulled his cloak around him and apparated to God only knew where.

I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes. I took in air until my heartbeat was steady again. Shaking, I reached deep into my pocket and pulled out the white slip of paper. Only one thing was written on it:

3125 Hogsmeade St.

I cringed as I realized that it was the address for the Shrieking Shack. Stuffing the paper back into my pocket, I headed for the door. Just as I twisted the doorknob, for some strange reason, it finally hit me how serious my situation was. I had to pretend to be on both sides at once; I could not tell Harry what Malfoy and I had decided, because I didn't know if Malfoy or Voldemort would be listening in. And I couldn't fabricate information on Harry either; Malfoy would know it was fake. From that point on, whatever I said and did determined who would win the war. I had to be the one to decide who knew what and when.

I never should have agreed to such insanity.

**End Chapter**


	2. What He Wants

_Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. Yes, I like Tabasco sauce, but I didn't come up with that, either._

**Au/N: Appreciate flames, but please don't trash this like it's Britney Spears. Told from Hermione's point of view.**

**_Two. What He Wants._**

Once I'd regained composure, I left the room and hurried down the creaky steps of the Leaky Cauldron. Without pausing to speak to the man behind the desk, I dropped the key on the counter before him and rushed toward the door. I heard him mumbling behind me.

"Hate to say 'I told you so…'"

Once outside, I took a deep, gasping breath of frigid December air. My chest hurt from the cold and my nose began to run, so I reached into my pocket—the one without the address—and pulled out a Kleenex. But as soon as I touched the tissue, I felt myself beginning to slip away; I'd entirely forgotten that the tissue was a portkey.

"Ugh!" I groaned as my body collided painfully with the floor of the Burrow.

"Hermione! How did it go? Did he suspect anything?" Harry rushed to my side and helped me stand up. I rubbed my back and moaned in pain. Then I heard the crackling of the Weasleys' fireplace, and due to my pleasure at seeing it, I forgot the pain. I smiled widely as I crossed the room to the roaring fire; I fell to my knees before it and stuck my hands as close to it as I could before I burnt myself.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, startling me out of the first happy moment I'd had all day. I turned to face him, momentarily certain of what I would say, but when I saw the concern in his eyes, it quickly became an exigent situation.

"I…it…wasn't so bad…" I said, trying to think of something convincing that wouldn't prove to be too informative. "He…didn't show up, actually. I waited for a half hour and he never came. So, I got tired and left."

"He didn't _show up_? That offer was _impossible_ to refuse! What got into him?" Harry shouted, more to himself than to me. He began to pace back and forth across the living room.

"I don't know…maybe he suspected it was a trap?" I suggested, trying to be helpful. Harry whipped around to face me suddenly, his eyes full of a fire that frightened me to no end.

"I…need to be alone. _Now_, if you please. Just…_go_." Harry was trying to control his anger; I couldn't be angry at him, because he'd become more and more irritable as the leads to Voldemort became fewer and farther between. I knew how he felt; I, too, was beginning to lose hope. But I'd had to stay strong for the good of everyone, and now that I was going to have to join the very side we were all fighting against, I was sure that the new responsibility would also take its toll on me.

"Sure, Harry. I'll be in my room if you need me." I quietly turned and headed for the stairs. Just as I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Harry sit down heavily on the couch and put his head in his hands. I thought he was crying for a moment, but then I realized that he was only shaking from the fury that he couldn't seem to rid himself of.

-:-

And there I was, a week later. I hadn't talked to Harry since the Tuesday that I'd met Malfoy. He'd been in and out of the Burrow, never notifying Ron or me about where he was going or what he was going to do there. So, I didn't have anything to report to Malfoy. I kept putting it off, thinking that it was all a horrible nightmare and that it would go away. But then, Monday came, and an unfamiliar owl delivered a letter to me; there was no return address or name attached. It said one word: "Remember."  
I was readying myself to leave and I couldn't help but think that I would displease Malfoy with my lack of information, and he'd kill me. But I knew that he'd most definitely kill me if I didn't know up, so I really had no choice. It was a lose-lose situation. I told Ron that I would be out for a few hours, and I'd be back when I'd be back. I hadn't meant to be cold to him, but I was nervous, and with my nerves came my inability to think straight.

Without stopping anywhere along the way, I apparated to the Hogsmeade gate and walked inside. Snow covered the ground, and people were everywhere, Christmas shopping for their loved ones. I hadn't bought Ron's and Harry's presents yet, and since Christmas was only a week away, I knew I'd have to do my shopping on the way home that day. If I ever left the Shrieking Shack.

Finally, I reached the old, unstable house and cautiously stepped inside.

"Hello?" I whispered; I saw a white cloud of air escape my lips. I rubbed my hands together and blew into them to keep warm. Pulling my cloak more tightly around me, I ascended the stairs carefully, trying not to step on a weak spot and fall through.

"Granger!" a voice said, shattering the quiet. "So glad you could come." Malfoy met me at the top of the stairs; he actually looked happy to see me. Probably because he thought I'd have some juicy gossip for him. Then, much to my amazement, his hands began to roam up and down my body as though he was searching for something.

"What on earth—stop it!" I shrieked, stepping back and pushing him away from me. He stumbled backward, surprised at my strength. Then his mouth curled into a wicked smile.

"I have to be sure you've not brought anything dangerous now, don't I, Granger?" he asked imperiously. I straightened up indignantly and glared at him. His eyes flashed at me as he understood that I had no intention of letting him touch me again.

"Do you have the information?" he asked, his voice full of hunger.

"I…no…Harry's been acting strange lately and--"

"What? You mean I let you walk out of that hotel last week so that you could go home and do _nothing_?" he demanded; fear gripped my very soul as his cold eyes bored into mine. I noticed, trying not to get lost again, that his eyes had changed color. They were emerald green with a rim of black around the edges. His gaze was powerful and commanding, and fear caused me to succumb to his fiery stare.

My knees gave way and I fell hard to the floor. I was suddenly very embarrassed; I'd never been weak in the knees before. My face felt hot, and I couldn't bear to look up at Malfoy. I noticed that this time, he did not offer to help me up. He only stood over me; I could hear his ragged breathing and knew he wanted revenge.

"You've dissatisfied me, Mudblood. I have no use for you now," he said, sounding exhausted. I wasn't surprised; of course he was tired. Killing people had become routine and monotonous for him.

"Then end it." I looked up at him, my eyes brimming with tears. I wanted it all to be over as quickly and painlessly as possible. I couldn't watch Harry fall apart anymore, and I couldn't keep lying to my friends just for a little information on my enemies. I felt sick and twisted, almost as bad as Malfoy himself. "End it now. I'm dead serious, Malfoy." I noticed a laugh was creeping into my voice. I stretched my hands out behind me and used them to pull my weight across the floor. I crawled away from Malfoy until my back hit the wall and I was sitting in the corner. I pulled my knees up to my chest and looked up at him. His face was paler than usual, his mouth was open slightly, and he looked entirely shocked. I was rather dazed myself.

He closed his mouth and straightened up, drawing himself up to his full, intimidating height. He reached into the pocket of his long, black robes and produced his wand. He pointed it directly at me, near my heart. I took a deep breath, and it sounded similar to how one would think a last breath would sound. I sighed, tilted my head so that it rested comfortably in the corner of the wall, and closed my eyes. Nothing happened for a few moments. I began to grow impatient.

"Just do it, Malfoy. We both know you want to. You've killed so many already. What's one more?" I asked, but it sounded more like a statement than a question. To tell the truth, I was rather glad that, if I had to die by the hand of a dark wizard, Malfoy would be the one to do it. He was second only to Voldemort, someone I'd grown up with, and he'd let me live once. It was, in a demented way, an honor to fall at his hands. This is where I came to be when I began this whole story; I was reflecting on my life, imagining my death, and wondering how I'd gotten myself into the whole mess. But no matter how many different ways I put it, I always came back to the same conclusion: I would have died for my cause anyway. So, I prepared myself to accept my inevitable fate.

But within a few seconds, I felt strong hands grab mine and pull me to my feet. My eyes snapped open in shock; I expected to see Harry or Ron, but instead, it was Draco Malfoy who'd gotten me back on my feet. I looked at him strangely; I saw the sadness in his eyes again. I couldn't blink or breathe; he was up to something…I knew it.

Suddenly, his eyes turned cold again, and he turned me to face the stairs. He grabbed the back of my robes, near my neck, and began to lead me down them. My heart began to pound loudly in my ears. We reached the front door, and Malfoy forced it open. Without another word, he threw me out into the snow. I fell, face-down, into the cold, white, freezing snow; I wanted nothing more than to be in front of the crackling fire at the burrow.

"This is your _last_ chance, Granger. You _will not_ fail me again," Malfoy promised threateningly. Just as the snow began to dampen my clothes, I heard Malfoy slam the door to the Shrieking Shack. I stood up, brushed myself off, and wrapped my robes around me again. I stared up at the house before me, wondering if I could just burn the whole damn thing down right then. But if I knew Malfoy, he wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted. That much I understood, without question.

But he'd let me live…something I was sure he'd rarely ever done for anyone. I understood his motives for Harry and his intentions for the war; what I _didn't _understand…didn't _want_ to understand…was what he wanted with _me_.

**End Chapter**

Didn't plan for this to head in this direction at all. Funny how things turn out, eh?

Review and get a cooookiee!


	3. A Secret

_Disclaimer: Nope. No. Nuh-uh. Nay. And any other way I can say it's not mine._

**Au/N: I LOVE reviews! Many thanks to those who bothered to do it.**

_**Three. A Secret.**_

My eyes opened slowly as I rubbed the sleep out of them. Sighing and shielding my face from the sun streaming in through my blinds, I turned my head slightly to catch a glimpse of the clock. It was seven thirty-eight in the morning.

And it was Tuesday.

I pressed my cool hands to my face, covering my eyes as I groaned loudly.

_Might as well get up, Hermione. It has to be done. You've got yourself into this bloody mess, and now you'll have to deal with it! _ I screamed several more semi-encouraging phrases at myself and finally sat up in bed, swinging my legs over the side and letting my feet touch the carpet. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand again. Red, blaring numbers of the digital clock bored into my eyes.

Seven thirty-nine.

Hoping to pass the time (and knowing I'd never get back to sleep) I began to take off my clothes and prepared to take a shower. Then, a knock came at my door; grabbing a towel from the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom, I wrapped it around myself and pressed my ear against the door to hear whoever was outside it.

"Yes?" I asked loudly. Ron's voice answered me.

"Hermione, me and Harry are going to Diagon Alley today to look at some books. Wanna come?" Ron asked, sounding a little more hopeful than I thought he should have.

I wanted to tell him that yes, I desperately wanted to go shopping for books! Books were, after all, my favorite thing in the world. But I remembered my appointment with Malfoy at the Shrieking Shack, and I knew that I'd never be able to sneak away from them. It would be best to let them think I was at home the whole time so they wouldn't come looking for me when I disappeared.

"Um…no, I don't think I'm feeling up to it today. I think I have a fever," I blurted out, biting my lip in hopes that he'd believe me. I prayed that he didn't choose today of all days to use his brain.

"Oh…" Ron's muffled voice said through the door, sounding disappointed. "Okay…well, we'll see you later tonight, then." I heard Harry downstairs call Ron faintly. "Be there in a minute, mate!" Ron called. "Well, I've gotta go Hermione. Hope…hope you feel better," he finished lamely. I was about to thank him for his concern when I heard his footsteps descending the stairs nearby.

I sighed again and headed to the bathroom, dropping the towel on the way. Stepping into the shower and closing the curtain behind me, I turned on the water, making it hot enough that it almost burned my skin. I moaned as the welcome warmth covered me, massaged my aching muscles and cleared my head. Shampooing my hair and rinsing it out, I managed to make it through most of my shower without thinking about my damned appointment. I knew more this week than I'd known the previous week; Harry had confided in me a little more. He planned to be at the Three Broomsticks on Thursday. I planned to tell Malfoy that he'd be at the Three Broomsticks on Friday, thus only partially lying to him. If I knew I was being half-truthful, it wouldn't be half as unnerving to tell him about it. I was a terrible liar and had only convinced him thus far because of pure luck.

I dropped the soap bar thinking about what would happen if Malfoy caught me in a lie. About to pick it up, I remembered something crude that Ron once said about dropping the soap in a shower.

_"You know, it's really stupid, if you're in prison, to drop the soap. Because then, when you bend down to get it…well, you're lucky if the nearest convict doesn't decide you have a nice bum, and that he needs to have his way with you," Ron said, smiling and poking me in the side._

_"Yes, but he wouldn't do that to you, Ron," I replied, smirking._

_"Oh? And why not?" he asked, sounding offended. It was funny to me that he was upset that a convict wouldn't want to rape him._

_"Because…" I said teasingly, "you have the worst bum I've ever seen."_

I laughed out loud, remembering the shocked look on Ron's face, and how he'd checked his bum out in the mirror for the rest of that day to see if I'd spoken truly. I shook my head to clear my thoughts again and stooped to pick up the soap.

I heard another knock on the door and groaned. I glanced down at my lovely Dial soap that would surely make me feel better, once I'd scrubbed myself clean with it, and ground my teeth as I decided whether to ignore the knocking or get out of the shower and answer the door.

I chose the latter and grudgingly got out of my perfectly nice shower, grabbed the towel on the floor, wrapped it around me, and rushed to the door.

I unlocked and opened the door while rubbing my eyes, not seeing who was standing there.

"For the last time, Ron, I'm not doing it!" I said angrily, finally opening my eyes to focus on the person in the doorway.

Malfoy.

A hand clamped over my mouth as I stifled a scream.

"While I would love to know what that conversation entailed, right now, I'm really only concerned with one thing, Granger," Malfoy sneered, pushing me back into the room and closing the door behind him—and locking it.

His hand was surprisingly warm as he used the one on my mouth to push me back forcefully on my bed. He came to stand next to it and stood over me, glaring down at me. My eyes flashed over to my wand on my nightstand, but he'd seen it, and he grabbed it with a lightning-fast arm.

"Don't even think about it, Granger."

I narrowed my eyes at him and sat up, my hair leaving a damp place on the sheets of my unmade bed.

His blonde hair was as thick as ever, but it wasn't slicked back with too much gel. He'd let it grow long until it hung into his eyes; the week before, I hadn't even noticed it. But today, as he stood above me, I noticed everything about him for the first time.

I shivered and realized I was cold; I hadn't dried off properly, and it finally occurred to me that I was quite naked under my towel, and Malfoy was near enough that I knew he could smell the scent of the shampoo from my freshly-washed hair.

"I…I thought I was coming to you today! At the Shrieking Shack! At noon!" I stole a quick glance at my clock. Eight o'clock exactly. "That's four hours from now!"

"My, my, my! Don't you catch on quickly, then?" he sneered, staring down at me. He moved closer to the edge of the bed; my knees hung off the edge, and my hands, which were holding my towel around me, tightened their grip on the only material that kept Malfoy's eyes from seeing more than I'd ever be comfortable with.

"Would you…erm…mind if…I got dressed first? I feel…awkward like this," I said, dropping my head and biting my lip.

"Yes, I would mind. This is a lovely position for you; vulnerable, naked and…quite alone in this house. You really should put a Protection charm on the door, you know."

"How did you find out where I live?" I demanded, suddenly very worried, because if he knew where I lived, then he knew where Harry lived…and he definitely wouldn't need me anymore.

"I sent an owl today, per usual, with the order 'to Hermione Granger' since I didn't know your address. Then I followed it here. Not rocket science, Granger." He moved even closer, edging one knee between both of mine. My pulse pounded furiously, and I felt my mouth go dry. I could smell his cologne; it was strong, but not strong enough that I didn't want to smell it any more. I actually found myself liking it, and wondering what kind it was…thinking I should buy Ron some for Christmas, since he could obviously use some.

"Well…I never got the owl!" I pointed out, hoping to distract him from my fascination with his smell.

"Of course you didn't. I kindly detained the owl once it had served its purpose, and I decided to deliver the message in person." He grinned evilly at me, and my eyes widened as he came even closer, his knee forcing mine completely apart.

"Wha—what's the message, then?" I asked, hoping he wasn't going to kill me. Wishing I hadn't answered the door, that Harry and Ron hadn't decided that they'd go to Diagon Alley today, that I was still in bed, asleep. Another realization struck me, and I snapped out of my temporary meltdown.

My towel. It was sliding down, slowly but surely. It barely covered my chest. Malfoy's knee had caught the edge of it, and as he moved forward, the towel was pulled down. I tried to hold it up, but he continued to advance, and I began to panic.

"The message…" he whispered huskily, leaning forward and climbing on top of me, pinning me beneath him on the bed, "…is that you've been reassigned. I've decided that it's too dangerous for you to live here, with the Potty and the Weasel. You could be discovered…made to talk…and then what purpose would you serve?" His face, his perfect, smooth, handsome face was only inches from mine. I was so afraid, so terribly afraid that I forgot how to struggle; my legs were numb and hung lifeless beneath Malfoy's body, and my arms were weighed down as though they were made of lead.

I felt something hard pressing against my stomach, and it wasn't hard for me to guess what it was. I swallowed hard, trying to figure out how to knee him in the groin when he was pressed so tightly against me.

And if I did that, I had to think—quickly—of some safe place to apparate to, or I had to run like hell outside, hoping that someone would notice a naked, wet woman screaming her lungs out for help.

"Malfoy…please get off me. I…this is making me uncomfortable and--"

He laughed coldly, keeping his eyes on me.

"_Uncomfortable_? Granger, you've battled a three-headed dog, faced the deaths of your friends and family, stayed up through nights to finish homework before everyone else, and spent countless hours in Hogwarts's library studying, and you want to tell me that _this_ makes you _uncomfortable_?" he scoffed, sounding as though he thought this was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard.

"Yes," I answered firmly, finding that my arms and legs didn't feel quite so heavy anymore after being insulted, "it does make me uncomfortable. And you're about to be, too, if you don't get your sick, twisted ass off me right this instant!" I screamed, using all my power to push against his chest and attempt to throw him off me.

It didn't work.

He pinned down my wrists above my head with one hand, and he used the other to tightly hold my chin, to stop my head from moving. He forced me to stare directly at him, his eyes filled with so many emotions that it made my head spin while trying to comprehend them all fitting inside one pair of eyes.

"Don't worry, Granger. I wouldn't dream of defiling you. I'm only here to tell you that you've been given a new assignment, and that you are to move out before Saturday. That's four days. Count it," he said, using one hand to show me four fingers, "four days. No more, no less."

I stared at him, dumbfounded._ Move out_? Where would I _go_? Where would I _live_? How would I explain it to Harry and Ron without telling them my plans? If they knew that I was feeding Malfoy information on _them_ so I could _get_ information on Malfoy…everything would be ruined! Harry wouldn't confide in me, so I'd have nothing to tell Malfoy…and then I'd be killed, and it would be all for nothing.

No. Harry couldn't know. I had to keep it a secret.

"Where do you want me to go?" I asked, sounding more defeated than I'd intended.

"There's a good girl, now," Malfoy said, smiling down at me. He seemed relieved. It surprised me that he actually _didn't_ want to fight me. "And to answer your question, you'll live with me. I'll give you my address, put it in a place that no one else can find it without your explicit consent…and you'll move in. It's that simple. Got it, Granger?" he asked forcefully, sarcastically. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"What place do you mean when you say somewhere that no one can access it without my 'explicit consent'?" I asked, suddenly very curious.

"I mean just that," he said, smirking. "I'm going to put it in your mind."

I was about to ask just how he planned to do that when he leaned forward and kissed me, pressing his lips to mine with such passion that I never thought could come from Draco Malfoy. His lips seemed to move perfectly against my own still ones. I was absolutely petrified as his hands slipped to my neck, holding my head still. As his tongue snaked its way into my mouth, I felt a tingling sensation ripple through me, and lightheadedness took its toll.

It ended as soon as it had begun. Malfoy pulled away and lifted his body off mine, returning to stand at the edge of my bed. I sat up, my head seeming to be floating on the clouds.

"Don't worry; the lightheaded sensation is normal. That's because I've enclosed information to you, including directions to my home. It can never be accessed by anyone other than you, even if someone were to use Occlemency or a Veratiserum on you. Only you, of your own free will, can pass the information on to someone else. Through…mouth-to-mouth contact."

"That's…not possible," I said, shaking my head.

"Yes it is. I should know, because I invented it," he said smugly. I stared, wide-eyed, at him.

"You invented a spell? Only the most powerful wizards can do that!" I gaped, unable to comprehend it all.

"It's not that hard," he said, inadvertently bragging. "I just thought I'd let you know that lightheadedness and fatigue are normal side effects after receiving the transmission. They're all temporary and should pass any time now."

"Good!" I breathed, sneaking another glance at the clock. Eight twenty-one. "I was worried that the tingling would never go away."

He raised an eyebrow and looked curiously at me.

"Tingling?" he asked, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

"Yes. But it's only a side effect, like you said," I answered pointedly.

"No, I said 'lightheadedness' and 'fatigue' are side effects. I never said anything about this 'tingling' you speak of, Granger."

I stared at him, shocked to the core. I couldn't…no. I wasn't…it had to be a side effect. It had to be. Sure, he'd kissed me…and he was a great kisser…but it hadn't affected me _that_ way. Of _course_ not. I was being paranoid.

"Well, I have Mudbloods to kill, muggles to maim, things of that sort, so I'll leave you to pack," Malfoy said, his familiar sneer returning. "And…Granger?" he asked softly.

"Yes?" I replied through clenched teeth.

"I know our little visits excite you, but please, put on some clothes next time."

I would've hexed him into oblivion if the little bastard hadn't apparated then.

**End Chapter**

Ahem. Did NOT check this chapter for spelling/grammar errors, sorry for that. I just wanted to get it up before this week began, because I'll be far too busy to do it later. REVIEW or I'll…steal your…socks! 0.o


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